Wolf Maid
by Morbid DramaQueen10
Summary: Lyanna Stark's first encounter with Rhaegar Targaryen was not first on the jousting fields of Harrenhall. The wolf maid caught the dragon prince's notice before he shocked Westeros and crowned her queen of love and beauty.
1. Chapter 1

**It's been an age since I've put anything out, but I thought I'd try my hand at GoT. This is a pairing I've really liked, and with the final answer of Jon Snow's parentage soon to be revealed I thought now would be a good time to explore Lyanna Stark and Rhaegar Targaryen's relationship. There are to be two chapters. I'm working with a blend of the TV show and book, so some details from one bleed into the other.**

 **This takes place at the Harrenhall tournament about a year before Robert's Rebellion and Lyanna's "kidnapping."**

 **-XXXX-**

Once the last notes of Rhaegar's love ballad faded, a soft applause and calls for more music filled the Hall of a Hundred Hearths. He bowed slightly, smiling to see such ardent approval. It was far favorable to the cheers he received on the jousting field.

Many eyes were damp, as they often were following one of his performances. It was not particularly noteworthy until a shout came from the left of the hall, from one of the three Stark sons. Rhaeger turned to see the youngest, Benjen, leap from the table, face red with wine. And beyond the angry young man, the bright-eyed Lyanna Stark. He swore he saw a trail of tears on her pale cheeks. She moved quickly, though, and it may have been a trick of the dim lights.

Benjen's laughter at her reaction to Rhaeger's sorrowful song had made her face grow hot. But it was not his rough chuckle, however, that caused her to lift her goblet and pour its ruby contents onto his head. No, it was Ned's soft hiss of "Dignity, sister," that proves to be her undoing.

More laughter followed as Benjen sputtered. Lyanna did not linger to see who specifically found amusement in her childish antics. Turning on her heels she swept from the hall, face still burning with embarrassment and anger. However, she was not so lucky as to leave uninterrupted.

Brandon, leaning against one of the pillars that flanked the walls, caught her shoulder before she could finish the escape. Her second-favorite brother's brows were high in amusement. Brandon had a spirit much like her own. _"Wolf-blooded,"_ their mother said. His temper easily matched her own, which meant he was more likely than the others to appeal to her better nature when rage colored her vision. They stood in the shadows, just beyond the edge of the festivities.

"He'll seek his revenge, Lya." Her elder brother's grey eyes, so much like her own, twinkled fondly.

"And I am certain I'll see it coming from a mile away."

"You'll give poor peace-loving Eddard an ulcer with talk like that."

She tossed back her head, letting the dark waves tumble back. Isbole, the Stark's ladies maid, had braided her crown so tightly she was starting to get a headache from the strain. "Ned has lived with me long enough to know that 'peace' shall never be the state of House Stark so long as I'm in Winterfell."

Something darkens slightly in Brandon's expression. "Aye, and that will be soon enough. You're lucky your betrothed didn't see that tantrum." He says it lightly enough to make it sound as though he is joking.

"We're all not so blessed as to find love in our betrothals, brother." She squeezed his hand, eyes finding Catelyn Tully from across the room. She sat beside her sister, the sour-faced Lysa. They were in stark contrast — warm Catelyn always looks so welcoming, whereas her younger sister often appeared as if she had a decaying fish directly beneath her long nose.

He smiled at his beloved Catelyn, though she didn't see from her place across the room. "You may be surprised, Lyanna. Robert may prove to be an attentive husband."

That is an idle wish. But she held her tongue.

"I ought to go speak to Ashara," Brandon sighed. "Ned's been making eyes at her all night."

She moved past him, slipping out to the corridor. It was blessedly empty — this early, most of the party was still in the hall. Later in the evening the drunken men would find their way to the stables, the courtyards, and undoubtedly, a few to the brothel beyond the castle gates. If not there, then into the beds of uncautious ladies.

Lyanna shuddered at the thought. Her own betrothed had most certainly done so more than a few times — something her brothers had bragged about long before her father and Robert Baratheon made the marriage arrangements. She was not blind to all his faults, though he appeared to be blinded to hers.

This was perhaps most troubling. He seemed to be under the impression that she was some sweet, gentle lady. The kind that preferred quiet afternoons of embroidery and tea to muddy hunts and hearty ale. Lyanna liked a garden stroll as much as the next person, but she preferred wandering in the godswood to nearly anything. She rode, not sidesaddle and not in some gilded carriage like spoiled Cercesi, but like a man with both legs around her stallion Nightfire. On the occasions that Robert paid her mind her preferred to preen over her like she was some kind of delicate songbird. It was through sheer will that she'd not fully given him her mind — well, will and her father's forbidding glances.

She did not fear Lord Stark. He prized his sole daughter as much as his sons, but he was not blind to her use as a means of forming alliances. Rickard truly believed that Robert would be a fair and loyal partner to her, believed he might be one of the few that could keep up with the fiery lady wolf. She secretly thought Robert was misjudged in this regard. But she's not protested. There probably were no better matches in all of the Seven Kingdoms. Robert was sufficient. Still, at times Lyanna thought she would perhaps rather be alone in eternal girlhood or as a sister.

Those options were not open to her. Come a few short years, she would wed Robert and become a Baratheon. Then she would leave the North she so loved and —

The mere thoughts threatened tears again. She straightened, and focused on her walk. At night, the cold castle was dreary. From the windows, she could see mist creeping up from the lake. She inadvertently shivered.

Tomorrow her brothers were to partake in the competition. She wished they had more friends. Rickard was not particularly social, so outside of their bannermen, House Baratheon and House Tully, the Starks were not particularly close with any other families. It was the first time she'd even been to such a gathering since she's started down the path of womanhood. Now fifteen, it had been over four years since the Starks as a whole had gathered at such festivities.

She turned a corner aimlessly, her thoughts punctured when she collided with the chest of a very slight, yet solid person. Lyanna flew backwards, apologies bubbling forth. They faded when she realized who stood before her.

Rhaegar Targaryen's fair hair glowed in the moonlight streaming in from the tall windows that lined the corridor. He appeared as surprised as Lyanna. The prince blinked down at her with his curious colored eyes before apologizing softly. "My humblest apologies, my lady. I hope I did little more than startle you."

"It is I who should apologize, my lord," she replied hastily. She couldn't help but stare. "I was simply very absorbed in my thoughts. I'm very sorry."

She tentatively awaited his response. While nearly everyone described the Dragon Prince in the kindest of terms, it was known that his father was quite mad. Goodness knows whether that madness was hereditary. And if so, whether it might choose to rear its head during a chance encounter with a young Stark.

"As was I," the prince replied gently. "On such as fine night, it is too easy to let them slip away from me."

"Do you consider the night fine?" She was shocked she dare to question his opinion, but Rhaegar appeared amused by her inquiry.

Crossing his arms, he leaned against the stone, smiling down at her. "Do you not?"

Lyanna lifted her chin. "I do not prefer mists and half-moons, my lord."

"I would think a winter wolf such as yourself wouldn't mind a bit of chill," he observed.

He knew her to be a Stark. Again surprised, Lyanna tilted her head. "I do prefer the cold at times, but misty is shifty, needless stuff."

Rhaegar laughed. "I have never heard it described as such, my lady. But perhaps you are right. Tell me, why are you not joining in the festivities? Were you banished following that display, with the wine and your younger brother?"

Her face felt hot again. Rhaegar felt some vague pleasure upon seeing her flustered expression.

"He was being rather difficult, my lord. I choose to leave of my own will, however. I find the crowds rather tiresome. I would much rather an evening left to my own devices."

The prince smiled. "As would I."

"I am glad to find a friend in this, then, sire."

"I hear that you are very skilled with a horse, my lady. They say you and your eldest brother are practically centaurs, and ride as though you came out of the womb on a horse. Will you be participating in any of the riding events?"

The thought was shocking. While lady warriors were not unheard of, Rickard Stark would under no circumstances allow his only daughter to partake in knightly pursuits. He barely allowed her to train with a sword.

"Oh, no," Lyanna replied. "My brothers certainly shall, and I look forward to supporting them. But I shall only be a spectator during this tournament."

"That is a pity. I can imagine you're quite a sight to behold on a horse."

"One can hope," she said, wryly. "But I'm afraid it shall not be seen here, my lord. Perhaps another time."

"I would like that," he said, genuinely. They smiled at one another, softly.

As if suddenly realizing herself, Lyanna curtsied suddenly. "I ought to go now, my lord. My maid is likely frantic, and my father would like to see me before I turn in, I am sure. He will wonder where I have disappeared to."

"Then by all means, assuage his fears. But allow me to escort you back to the hall. It's quite dark and I know Harrenhall can be a maze in the night hours."

She allowed him to lead her back. They were relatively quiet. Every so often she glanced up at him, finding once or twice those startling purple eyes on her. The usually-bold wolf maid was unsure of herself, and simply gazed back with her own wide grey orbs.

When they reached the doors to the Hall of a Hundred Hearths, Rhaegar took pause.

"Thank you for the stimulating conversation." He gave her a gracious half-bow, claiming her hand a kissing the fingers lightly. It took him longer than necessary to let go.

She searched for something to say in parting. "Tomorrow begins the joust. I wish you well."

"I hope you do not spread your wishes too thin, for I know your brothers compete as well."

Lyanna smiled. "Aye, my lord, and there is luck enough for them I'm sure, with our family behind them. Still. I hope you do well, my prince."

"I shall look for your face in the crowd," he promised. It struck her as odd to make such a declaration — why should he seek her out when Princess Elia would be there to cheer him on — but the strangeness didn't linger long in her mind. He finally released her hand, and Lyanna curtsied again, slipping back into the dull roar of the great hall.

 **-XXXX-**

 **Hopefully I will have the next chapter up by the weekend!**


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

 **This is set several days after the first chapter, in the last day of the tournament.**

 **-XXXX-**

Five days later found her in the godswood. After an afternoon of taunts (from her brothers, naturally) and unsettling stares (from everyone else), she was in desperate of need of time alone. In the shadows of the trees, she sat alongside the stream, toes emerged. It was spring-fed, terribly cold. She was too preoccupied, however, with the flowers in her lap.

The crown was only a little wilted. The petals were still flush with color. A pale winter's blue, the flowers were darkest in the middle, becoming almost white on the outer petals. They were certainly the loveliest blossoms she'd ever seen.

She still was in awe, five hours later, that it was hers. When Rhaegar had offered it to her on the field, Lyanna had been speechless. He had smiled and swung it onto her head before bowing slightly and galloping off the field. In that brief interaction the stands had grown very, very quiet. A quick sweep revealed a wide range of reactions from shock, anger, and fear. Cersei's eyes flashed with rage, the king looked indifferent, her brothers incredulous, Robert furious, and Elia — well, she appeared heartsick. It was then that guilt rose into Lya's throat. A hand shakily rose to remove the laurels, but it was swiftly stopped.

Ned shook his head, whispering, "Not here, Lya."

He was right. She lowered her hand, hoping no once noticed. They sat for the rest of the celebration, then her brothers and father escorted back to their chambers so they could prepare for the closing feasting.

Rickard was frustrated. He paced the room with heavy footfalls. "The Martells will undoubtedly feel slighted. Why did he choose you?"

Lyanna had no answer. Rhaegar simply had decided to award her the honor, going against many other better options — his wife, for instance, Catelyn Tully, Cersei Lannister, Ashara Dayne…

"Never mind the Martells," Brandon cut through her thoughts, expression dark. "What will Robert think?"

That gave them pause. The thought made all of the Starks unsettled. It was no light thing to give another man's betrothed the honor of queen of love and beauty.

"I will tell him it was a mistake," Lyanna said slowly. "He's probably as confused as we are."

But Robert was already roaring drunk by the time the Starks made their entry into the Hall of a Hundred Heaths. He stood near the front of the room, loudly laughing with a Greyjoy and a Tyrell. Ned had a pained look in his eye upon recognizing his very drunk friend. Lyanna made a point to avoid her betrothed and no one said a word.

She's worn the laurels to the feast as her brother insisted. It was not her preference, but expected of her. Not wishing to appear ashamed and risk offending Rhaegar or his family, she'd worn the blooms, though she tried to make them as inconspicuous as possible by wearing her hair in a distracting fashion. It had not worked. Poor Princess Elia's soft eyes had sought her out immediately. Others inflicted an unkind gaze upon her too. Catelyn made a point of sitting next to her at dinner, attempting to provide a distraction. Lysa joined her sister, but she was less kind, sneering at the sight of Lyanna wearing the flowers.

Once things had been in full swing she manage to escape unnoticed again. A bit of wandering had lead her to the woods housed within the castle's walls. Just a little ways from the weirwood, she was in the heart of the forest. The sounds of celebration were far away. She was free to relax, close her eyes, forget about the troubling day….

A sudden snap sent the Stark into high alert. Lyanna's eyes flew open. She rose swiftly, the flowers tumbling unceremoniously to the ground as the dagger stashed in her sleeve was unsheathed.

But her fierce stance was wasted. Rhaegar Targaryen held his hands aloft in the universal sign for peace as he moved beyond the weirwood tree where he'd evidently been standing. His violet eyes sparkled in amusement and the wry twist of his lips gave him the look of a mischievous boy. Annoyed, Lyanna stowed her dagger and backed again from the prince, crossing her arms.

"You'll forgive me for the distance, my lord, but you startled me and I'm still a hair tense."

"Apologies, my lady. We must quit startling each other like this." Rhaeger's voice was light.

The Stark's eyes narrowed. "I'm starting to believe perhaps these are not chance meetings, my lord."

At this he smiled. "I do not know what you mean." Taking in her crossed arms and firm posture, he asked, "What did you think of the end of the tournament, Lady Stark? Were you pleased with your brothers' performance?"

"They did well enough."

His lips pursed in a mild humor. "And of my prize?"

"It was a mistake, my lord," she replied shortly. Lyanna was proud that her voice did not quake. Tossing her brown curls, she asked, "Why should you have gifted me the title when clearly others were far more deserving?"

 _Such as your wife?_ went unspoken.

He did not have an answer. Wordless, the prince crossed the space between them, pausing only to scoop up the forgotten crown. Once before her he again placed in on her head, letting his fingers trail gently down her cheek. Lyanna stared up at him, frozen.

"I disagree. You were by far the most deserving." Eyes half-lidded, Rhaegar lowered his face to hers —

Lyanna stepped back, disgusted. "No, my lord. You've caused quite a mess here. My betrothed is far from pleased, as is my family. And I do not doubt Princess Elia is unhappy with what you did this afternoon too."

Uncaring, Rhaegar followed her. "My wife is preoccupied with different things. And I do not see how Robert could object to you being named the fairest of all the ladies in attendance. Surely any man would like to think his betrothed so."

"Not when awarding that title implies…something." Her face felt hot. "That was not right, your highness."

To her surprised, the prince laughed. His eyes sparkled. "You're scolding me for telling you I love you?" His hands sought hers, squeezing.

At this bold declaration Lyanna attempted to draw even further back. "Idyl words," she hissed. "You're speaking like a mad man. You love Elia, and I'm bound to Robert. This is madness. You don't even know me."

"That's not true." He shook his head eagerly. "I know you, wolf maid. You're just like me — happiest in the godswood, defender of the smallfolk, more interested in horses and books than the petty minds of people."

"I —" She was flabbergast. Attempting to extricate herself again, she strained against his hands. Her back hit a nearby ironwood, and Rhaegar had her trapped. His grip remained firm, but loose, and he did not loom too terribly, standing a little less than an arm's length away. His calm expression wasn't menacing — merely infuriating. While his proximity bothered the young Stark, she did not feel unsafe. In another man's arms she would have been panicked. Lyanna trusted the prince's honor. Eventually she ceased in her attempt with an irritated sigh. Resigning herself to another means of escape, she tried reasoning with him again.

"You cannot say that, my lord," she said, voice low. "You cannot say you love me. You're married, and I am bound to Robert Baratheon. He would be terribly angry to hear such a declaration."

"Are you angry?" he asked softly. "Or just fearful of your beloved's reaction?"

"He's not my beloved," Lyanna snapped too quickly. Realizing what she'd said, she bit her lip. "I mean, we're still figuring one another out. Love will come in time, I am certain."

This gave Rhaegar a glint of hope. "Why must you wait?" One hand traveled up her arm to rest on her elbow, pulling her closer. "I offer it to you now."

Again, he neared with the intention of claiming her lips. Lyanna allowed him to approach. Just when he brushed her mouth to his, she smashed one foot beneath her own. Wearing only light leather shoes, the prince's feet were vulnerable and he gasped, releasing her arms. The Stark drew back laughing, perfectly satisfied.

"Very well," the prince said, grimacing. He leaned against the tree, regarding her broad grin. "I see I shall have to use my words to convince you."

"They've not done much yet."

It was his turn to grin. "What could I say that would make you believe me?"

"It's not a matter of belief, sire." Lyanna straightened. "Rather, what propriety demands. We're both otherwise attached." In the moonlight her grey eyes were like silver. With a wide-legged stance and rigid posture, Rhaeger could see how the wolf's blood shone in the young Stark. She was direwolf through and through. Bold, courageous, a creature made of sheer will. Still, for all of her defensiveness, there was a flicker of doubt in the young woman.

"But you could love me, if it were not for Robert?"

She laughed again. "I did not say that."

Rhaegar clung to this regardless. "We would not be the first."

"Yes, but I fear we'd be the last," the Stark replied, half-serious. "It's a mad notion, my lord. I appreciate your…flattery. But I'm afraid this must end. Your lady wife must surely be missing you. And Robert is likely missing me."

With that, the wolf maid turn swiftly, pausing only to scoop up her shoes and crown, and to jump across the stream. Rhaegar sighed and followed after her. She was fast, stalking quickly through the dim woods. His longer legs gave him an advantage, however, and he soon matched her pace.

"i do not mean to make you believe that I see you as a mere dalliance, my lady," he began quietly. "You've enchanted me, truly. I see now that I made a mockery of you and my feeling when I gave you that crown. That was never my intention."

The girl's icy exterior did not melt. Feeling well and truly shamed, the prince tried again.

"I do not ask that you do anything against your nature. But I do want you to know that I've meant every word. Perhaps my manner implied otherwise. I do not wish to leave any doubt in your mind."

This garnered some small reaction, though not one he'd expected. She stopped, grabbing his wrist rather forcefully so that he was made to halt next to her. Wordlessly, she put her calloused hands on either side of his face, pulling his head down so she might press her lips to his. The kiss started rather harshly, her lips firm and warring against his own. But in time they softened and Lyanna relaxed as the prince's body melted into her own. For what felt like an age they stood in the midst of the godswood, mouths moving in time. And then, after Rhaegar pulled back, they simply breathed, foreheads pressed together.

Lyanna Stark drew back after several long moments. Her eyes were guarded, like the grey that made up her irises was impenetrable stone. She released the prince's arms and carried on forward, moving towards the lights of the castle ahead. Following her lead — as he would, for the next two years — Rhaegar followed suit. Once inside, she squeezed his hand very briefly before they parted for the great hall.

A month later the first letter arrives at Rhaegar's window with a rather aggressive raven.

 **-XXXX-**

 **Considering a third chapter that goes more into how Rhaeger kidnapped Lyanna, how their relationship was built, etc. We'll see if I come up with anything worthy.**

 **Please review!**


	3. Chapter 3

**Well, I thought I was finished, but I kept getting ideas, so I think I'll carry this story on until the Tower of Joy.**

 **XXXXX**

A month later the first letter arrived with a rather aggressive raven. He didn't know how he managed to hid it from Elia. She was busy with the baby, true, but when not with the baby or in bed ill she was often near him. That day she'd been kept up all night by their daughter and was sleeping, so when the black bird swooped in, she did not stir.

Rhaegar did not recognize the handwriting. It was not the neat, trained script he was used to reading. The letters were almost mismatched, and though flowing, they were messy, too-large and too-fast. He skied the text until he reached the end. The name almost gleamed in the midday sun. _Lyanna._

It took him nearly three week to write a response, he was so unsure of how to approach her unusually candid correspondence.

 _"….Why do men betray their honor and their wives? It has been told to me that Robert has a bastard girl. Yet when he comes to our court his eyes shine and he speaks words of love…"_

She was not stupid. Lyanna surely did not believe Robert's tender-hearted declarations, though he might believe them himself. She simply wished to know why he even bothered with the flowery words. Her question wasn't an idyl one either, it was very pointedly aimed at him. The true question could only be implied.

 _"Why do you claim to love your wife when you sought me out in the wood?"_

He didn't have an answer. He loved Elia, in his own way. Truly. She was devoted to him, devoted to their children and their life and her future as queen by his side. Elia obeyed, not through any fault or purpose of her own. The Martells bred it in their women. The Starks did not create genteel, delicate girls. Elia was a good person in her own right, too good.

She simply did not interest him in the way the Stark maiden did. And leaving one's wife simply wasn't done by their kind. Any commoner may abandon their spouse, But the son of the king was married for alliance. Alliance broke when marriages ended.

Surely the Stark girl knew this, knew how the world and politics and alliances worked. Knew that women were mere bargaining chips for power, all while possessing none of their own.

Maybe he misunderstood the question….

In the end he sent her a short letter. He expressed sympathy for her impending marriage, but aimed to offer comfort. A month after following her to the godswood, Rhaegar was seeing the light of day. Encouraging his own feelings wouldn't end well for anyone. She'd only written out of curiosity, anyways. Not out of any shared feelings. That night at Harrenhall had been a fluke.

As he rolled the parchment in preparation to be sent, Rhaegar reflected on bitter words his mother had once shared. They were sitting at his father's name-day fest, just a few years before he wed Elia. Rhaella's eyes did not miss her husband's straying hands brush the backside of a Tyrell. They burned briefly and she said to her son, "Do not pain your wife by taking up whores in your bed. But if you must, Rhaegar, do not select one from among her peers."

He'd never forgotten the way her anger had faded into dull submission in mere moments.

The raven squawked, breaking the reverie. Shaking his head, the prince attached the message to the bird's foot, then watched it pounce from the window and soar away. He immediately regretted sending it off.

 **XXXXX**

Writing was almost as abhorrent as embroidery in the wolf maid's mind. Both were things taught by greying septas. Lyanna was not particularly interested in anything that involved sitting still and being quiet. So when she sat down to write that letter four weeks after the tournament at Harrenhall, she was distinctly aware of her penmanship. Or rather, lack thereof.

She'd written him on a lark, hoping to be reassured that the prince's fancy had been just that — fleeting, spurred on by drink and the festivities at hand. And she'd very nearly discerned that too, when weeks went by without a reply. Then, the bird had appeared at her window one dawn, screeching for breakfast and unwilling to gift her with the letter until he'd been fed. At the risk of taking a few nips from his beak, she retrieved the note, opening it with great caution.

It was short — very short, less than five paragraphs written in a neat, slanted hand. He was sorry that she did not love Robert, but perhaps in time, he said, she could at least grow fond of him. He wasn't one to speak on the matter, as he and Elia did not marry for love, though things were working out between them. It was a prosperous match for both the Baratheons and the Starks, and he knew Robert to be a good man. "Drink," he said. "Is not the worst vice a husband can have."

Still, he expressed sympathy and wished her the best. Later, he alluded to his daughter, court business, and some upcoming court functions. Overall, the tone was distant. At first, she thought she knew him, knew that he'd changed his mind. But then, she read it again.

He'd signed with his name, no formalities or titles. Just _Rhaegar_ , there in stark black ink.

Electing to skip breakfast, Lyanna gathered pen and paper and began writing the reply she'd composed weeks ago, almost the very second after sending the first letter.

 **XXXXXX**

The letter wasn't short enough. And her reply was even more charming than her first letter, and he felt nearly breathless reading. She spoke of her life and her brothers, her stallion, of her sword lessons, inquired after his daughter and his lands. His wife was not mentioned perhaps out of fear or respect.

He did not wait nearly as long to reply this time. Caution was still in place, but he wrote a much longer letter. Rhaegar answered all of her questions and told her of his life — of sneaking out to play minstrel, of his newborn daughter whom he loved, the summers flowers, of learning new songs and buying new books. Lyanna did not like books, he soon learned, knew little of flowers. But she liked music and horses and snow. She was, she said, the best on horseback out of all of her brothers, and far better with a sword than Benjen or Ned. Brandon could still best her, though.

Her brothers were frequent characters in her narratives. She loved them each dearly, knew them better than maybe anyone. She was closest to Ned, who was three years older. Benjen was only a year behind her, and Brandon was a fully five years above. She and Ned fit snugly in the middle of the Starks. Rhaegar knew that she loved him best when she confided that she'd not told him of her correspondence with the prince. "Ned wouldn't understand," she said. "But he'd not-understand the least in comparison to the others."

When he read of her brothers he thought of Viserys. His brother was so young with so many years between them. On the occasions they saw one another Viserys was stiff and proper. Rhaegar had never thought much about siblings — it was too sad, when he was younger, with all of his mother's problems. Reading Lyanna's words made him wonder what he might have missed.

 **XXXXX**

Lyanna was waiting and she hated it.

The day she found herself searching the sky for ravens was the day she realized that this was not a game anymore. She cared. She longed for his letters and she cared about what was in them and that _was not what was supposed to happen._

Three months passed with nearly a dozen letters between them. Nothing had contradicted the handsome prince she'd met in the gardens. Rhaegar was funny and kind and passionate in his letters just as he'd been in the godswood. He did not ramble on about it own life incessantly, he paid attention to what she wrote of hers and asked questions and remember details. It was perhaps the best correspondence she'd ever had — though, to tell the truth, Lyanna had not written many letters in her short 15 years.

But it was no wonder that she enjoyed writing to him. Rhaegar acted like he was confiding in a friend, writing to someone whose thoughts and feelings mattered. When she received the occasional note from her betrothed, Robert blathered on and on about hunting and drinking and meetings with his father. Lyanna loved the hunt dearly, but Robert's already limited vocabulary was hardly extended when describing stalking a stag through the wood. It made for dull reading.

Elia and Robert were notable absent from their notes. Lyanna comforted herself in silent reassurances that they were doing nothing wrong. It was just a friendly correspondence, not love letters. She'd seen the letters her elder cousin wrote to men — written on scented parchment, long flowing script, describing the things that happened when the lights were dim and all sensible people were asleep. What she shared with the prince was nothing nearly so lurid. They simply…talked.

 _"But if that were the case,"_ a niggling voice in the back of her mind suggested. _"Why is it a secret?"_

She elected to ignore the question.

 **XXXXX**

When he received the invitation for a midsummer celebration with the Arryns he'd hoped that she would be there. The Starks were undoubtedly going to attend. He did not ask to ensure her presence, wishing to instead surprise her. After three months, he was curious to see how she would respond to him. Was the attractions fading to mere friendship? Or did she too feel the spark when she read his words on parchment?

Elia was still recovering from Harrenhall, and she wasn't up for making the journey with him. The water crossing alone would likely cause her to feel very ill. So he kissed her and the babe and set off alone.

The Eryie was cold as ever. Rhaegar road through the gates, weary and shivering. Even in high summer there was a distinct chill. It did not seem to bother Jon Arryn, who greeted him warmly in the High Hall. No one else was present to Rhaegar's disappointment. He took his leave after a brief meeting with Arryn, claiming a rest he dearly needed.

That evening, after a quiet dinner in his room, he took to prowling the godswood. It was nothing like the one at Harrenhall — this place was all shrubbery, statues, with few trees. He lingered for well over an hour but she never appeared.

The next day the festivities began, and that was when he saw the Stark brood and learned that Lyanna had been kept back at Winterfell. Disappointment bubbled in his chest. _"You only have yourself to blame,"_ he scolded. _"Perhaps she might have attempted had she known…"_

Sitting next to her brothers was a small comfort. There was a mild tension between them — after all, he'd slighted their sister at the tournament at Harrenhall. They seemed willing to move on, however. Brandon wasn't exactly welcoming, Benjen was rather indifferent, but Ned made an effort at warmth. They were not big talkers, but this suited the dragon prince. They ate in companionable silence and observed the musicians and dancers Jon Arryn had provided as entertainment with reserved smiles and cheers. Towards the end of the evening he dared to inquire after Lyanna.

"How fares your sister?" he asked casually. "She is betrothed to one of the Lannisters, correct?"

"No, Robert Baratheon," Brandon replied shortly before draining his goblet.

"Ah, an excellent match. And you, Lord Brandon, you're engaged to Tully's eldest?"

The question seem to have strained Ned, who smiled tightly. "She is eager to have Lady Catelyn as her sister." Brandon's shoulders shifted at this.

"Who would not be," Rhaegar said gently. "Lady Catelyn Tully is fair and as kind as they come. And after a life surrounded by her three brothers, I have no doubt that Lady Lyanna is excited by the prospect of a sister, even one through marriage. Are they close? Do they correspond often?"

At this, all three of the Stark boys broke out laughing, harder than they'd laughed all night. Rhaegar sat back, confused. What had he said? It was Benjen who finally cleared up the confusion, wiping tears from his eyes.

"Lyanna cannot stand to write anything. Ha, just imagining her writing a letter…" Benjen chuckled. "She's hated writing since we were children. Yes, she learned to read and learned her letters, but lord, the notion of Lya writing a letter voluntarily…."

 _"Interesting."_

"Perhaps if the person is special to her, your lovely sister would get over her aversion," he suggested.

More laughter. "My sister would sooner take up needlepoint," Brandon boomed. "Another hobby she avoids like the plague. Once, her septa attempted to punish her with an afternoon of embroidering pillows —"

Rhaegar leaned back and smiled. He'd learned something of his pen pal, and made friends with the Starks in the meantime. Not the ideal situation, but better than walking away with nothing.

 **XXXXXX**

She had not wanted to go to the Eyrie, and thankfully it was not expected of her. She'd ridden out with them as far as a half day's ride, kissed each of her brothers farewell, then watched as their back retreated, until their black shapes flickered and faded in the distance. They'd be back in a week, but Winterfell would be quiet until then. She would miss them, no doubt.

Many at King's Landing thought Winterfell to be a cold, dull place. They could not imagine how anyone could scrape a living out of grey skies, constant chill, and a landscape frequently blanketed by snow. Lyanna knew better. Ice ran through her veins and nothing brought her greater delight then to see the puffs of frost clouds that came with her breath on a cold dawn ride. She loved Winterfell, loved her people and her godswood, maybe more than anyone or anything. She was a wolf, through and through.

Leaving was hard, but being left was perhaps worse. While Brandon was no longer her playmate, Ned could be coaxed into a fun, work-free afternoon, and Benjen was her constant companion.

Now that adulthood was approaching, there was less time for fun. Her brothers were gaining more responsibilities. More was being expected of her too. Since her betrothal Rickard had expressed a wish that she take up a few more "womanly" pastimes. Lyanna rejected this request. She'd much prefer to be with her horse and her brothers.

But she took up some of the household organization. Since her mother passed three years ago the head housekeeper had taken on most of the tasks her mother once claimed. Lyanna could plan feasts and negotiate menus with the cook, and she could decide what changes should be done in seasonal cleaning. She could help the maids sort through linens and mend shirts. It was boring work, but work nonetheless. Rickard was pleased.

The week passed slowly. On the seventh day she road out to meet them on the Kingsroad. They were late, leaving her to wait an extra hour, but they came and she whooped upon the sight of them. Though it had only been a week, Ned almost pulled her off her horse in a great bear hug. Brandon kissed her forehead. Benjen gave her some pretty paper flowers made by their one of their Flint cousins. They were a little wrinkled from where they'd been tucked in his coat, but lovely regardless.

The ride back Benjen told her everything that happened. Ned and Brandon were quiet, as usual, adding a thought or two here and there. It was of only a mild interest to her until Benjen made mention of the prince.

"Prince Rhaegar was there?" she said quickly. She caught herself. "I-I am always surprised to hear of him leave Elia's side."

Brandon snorted. "I am not. Theirs was not a marriage for love, Lya. They like each other well enough, and it is a fairly happy marriage, but he's not infatuated with his wife by any means. She's so ill, I can image any man would like the occasional chance to get away."

Lyanna and Ned both frowned. They shared a glance, both of them thinking of Catelyn. Lyanna pressed her lips together briefly before asking, "What news did the Prince have? Has he seen his father as of late?"

Benjen shrugged. "He did not speak much, to be honest. Though he did ask after you, Lya."

She manage to mask her excitement with an indifferent voice. "Did he? And what did the Crown Prince of Westeros wish to know about the only Stark daughter."

Her brother's should brushed her own in companionable affection. "Not much. He forgot your betrothed, thought you were marrying an Lannister."

"Well, with so many lords and ladies to keep track of," she said lightly. "Who can expect him to remember me? I will graciously ignore the offense."

"Just as everyone else has forgotten his earlier slight to you." Brandon growled under his breath. His sister threw an exasperated look at him. The eldest Stark ignored her, going on. "No one mentioned it in the Eyrie but I could tell they were all thinking of Harrenhall and that damned crown of blue roses."

Lyanna thought of that crown, the blue blossoms she had dried and hung above her bed. Neither her brothers or fathers ever went in there, so they could not see the evidence of her affection.

Benjen said softly, "They say he's trying to spark an alliance with us to overthrow his father."

His sister nearly hurt her neck swinging around to look at him. "What?"

"That's just talk," Ned said.

"It doesn't matter why," Brandon snapped. "He slighted you, made you look a fool. I won't stand for it, Lya."

"It was a mistake, Brandon," Ned said just as Lyanna insisted,"He apologized!" They exchanged another glance.

"He apologized to me. Prince Rhaegar did not mean any offense. He saw me the night before, new I was feeling sad about the betrothal. He was trying to make me feel better."

"When did he say this?"

She opened her mouth, caught in a lie. "He — he found me that night, outside the hall. He was a little drunk, but he apologized."

Brandon had nothing to say to this. He simply huffed and road on. Ned have her a look like he did not quite believe her — he could always tell when she was lying. So she did not meet his gaze. Lifting her chin, she urged Nightfire on and raced Benjen until the reached the gates of Winterfell.

 **XXXXX**

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